The Canterbury Tales are a collection of stories about a group of pilgrims heading to a shrine, passing the time with a storytelling contest.
The winner was to get a free meal upon return from the pilgrimage.
Today, only a portion of the manuscripts are known to the public, as many tales are missing, and we are left without knowing who won the contest.
Until today.
Reading the ancient papers on a lighted workbench, I learn of a man dressed in a black cloak and hood, silent as the night, dining alone.
Yes, it’s true.
The Ninja won the contest.
Tag: quote
War No More
In Micah and Isaiah, spears are bent into pruning-hooks and swords into plowshares, but in Joel they are bent back.
I guess they didn’t have enough metal to maintain a reasonable inventory of both.
These days, we’ve got lots of metal, but it’s always good to recycle.
Plus, who really needs plow-shares or pruning-hooks these days? Instead of bending swords and spears into them, you can make good money selling weaponry to some Renaissance festival role-player.
Sure, you might need to dull the edges a bit or encase them in a hard resin for safety, but that’s easier than bending.
Likeness
The Devil can quote scripture to suit his own purposes, but not after Disney released their Bible movie.
“You can’t copyright the Bible!” howled The Devil.
“You’re quoting the characters in our movie,” said the lawyers. “And that getup with the horns and the tail… that’s a close likeness to the Mr. Scratch character.”
“OF COURSE IT IS! IT’S MY LOOK!”
Despite his best efforts and the assistance of Daniel Webster, The Devil lost.
He grumbled, and then realized… searching… searching…
He tore up his contract with Michael Eisner.
“Suck it!” he laughed, turning on CNBC to watch the carnage.
Balanced breakfast
Jimmy walked into the kitchen, picked up a banana, and put it on his shoulder.
Then he got out a bowl, filled it with cereal, poured milk into it, and stuck that on top of his head.
He didn’t spill a drop.
Then he dropped two slices of bread in the toaster, waited, and juggled the toast in one hand while spinning a glass of orange juice with a finger on the other hand.
He walked back to the table and sat down.
Janice wanted a diet soda, but Jimmy growled “That’s not part of a complete and balanced breakfast!”
Love Potion Number…
Love Potion Number One was too acidic. Burned through the flask, ruined the countertop.
Number Two tasted weird. Like bathwater. And grease. Ew.
Three and Four were highly volatile. Evaporated the moment you opened them. Inhalers? Nah. Asthmatics would get confused. And horny.
Five turned the subject violent.
Thankfully, Six acted as an antidote, but turned their skin green. Kinda kinky.
Number Seven was a deadly neurotoxin. We sold it to the CIA.
Eight makes a good stain remover. See my pants? Spotless!
Oh well.
Care for some tea?
Good. I’ll pour.
And be sure to drink it all, darling.
The Pitcher
Pablo Picasso’s last words were “Drink to me!”
But his caretakers misheard him, and thought he’d said “Drink me!”
So, they put him in the bathtub, chopped him into pieces, and ran him through the blender, toasting their friend Picasso with every bloody glass of the liquefied artist.
His bones posed a serious problem, since they were too difficult for the kitchen blender to pulverize, no matter how small they cut them up with the woodshed axe.
One of them suggested melting them with acid.
“How are we going to drink the acid?”
They tried anyway.
(Nobody drank to them.)
No Squid Left Behind
Due to a mixup, Fillmore High School enacted a No Squid Left Behind policy during the Bush Administration, and sure enough, the entire Senior class ended up being a swimming pool full of squid.
Which, was a shame, since the pool was filled with chlorinated fresh water, and it killed all the saltwater squid.
They weren’t bad squid at all. Well-behaved on the whole.
None of the cheerleading squad got knocked up, no fights in the hallways.
Oh, sure, academics suffered greatly. So did athletics.
You’d think they’d win State in swimming, but as I said, the pool was lethal.
Hopeless Romantic
“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?” said Romeo, walking out of the woods and approaching Juliet’s balcony.
A Martian leaned out the window, took aim, and fired his disruptor rifle at the horny teenager, incinerating him.
Juliet tried to scream, but the stasis field muted her plaintive sounds.
“What about the nurse?” asked another Martian.
The first Martian drew a finger across his throat.
To Romeo, Juliet was the sun.
But to Mars, she would make an excellent breeding-host.
Cargo bays full, the Martian ship extended its wings and silently rose through the puffing clouds into the heavens.
Saucy Tim
Sometimes, I wonder if A Christmas Carol was just a CIA experiment involving hallucinogenic mustard.
The ghosts.
The memories.
The visions.
All his deep-buried secrets and fears, unleashed in a night of guilt and terror.
I mean, even Scrooge was suspicious, right? “Tis only a blot of mustard.”
If only he’d followed that suspicion instead of dismissed it so readily, the world would be a different place.
Sure, Tiny Tim would have died, but all those hookers he killed when he grew up to become Jack The Ripper wouldn’t have been brutally slaughtered.
God bless them, each and every one.
The Killing Stone
Ever kill two birds with one stone?
It’s not that hard to do, really.
Especially if they’re chickens. Bashing in their heads with a stone is really easy.
In fact, if you’ve got them trapped in the coop, you can pretty much wipe out the whole flock with one stone.
Dropping a large paving stone on a bamboo cage full of finches or parakeets will take out half a dozen easily.
Ostriches are another case entirely. Those, you have to wait until they’re asleep, and take really careful aim before hitting them.
Otherwise, they’ll kill one human with one kick.